Mind Passion
by Osiris-Ra
Summary: There will always be in the back of one's mind the question of how well they know themselves.


**Mind Passion**

**By **

**Osiris-Ra**

_There will always be in the back of one's mind the question of how well they know themselves._

Walking the shadowed, misty passageway felt more to her as if she was walking the old, narrow corridors of her own past. She approached the door and grasping the cold metal in her palm, turned the knob.

The inside of the house held a peculiar musty metallic odor as if blood had been spilt and the hot breath of the terrified gasps or screams were left lingering in the air. This was the last place she had been, she remembered, it was left like a lingering thumb print on her memory. A memory clear a frighteningly vivid, but hard to recall as to when it had actually happened. She ran her fingers across the wall, gazing at the strange, methodical zig zag patterns of the wall paper, the coal black carpet, the red and cream colored furniture. Her hands stopped at the edges of a picture frame. She looked up. It was a giant portrait of an African Jesus, his strange eyes peering down at her from under a handsome pronounced forehead. He seemed so alive hanging there upon the wall in the strange room. He had an almost ethereal glow about him which captivated her. She stared at him for a long time before she realized what she was doing. Suddenly she became afraid. She found herself walking slowly backwards, eyes still upon the painting, and fell backwards onto the red leather couch. She rose again, hating the perturbing squeak of the leather and walked away from it, to the kitchen.

There were rows of queer utensils used for cutting, slicing, paring, scraping and scooping. They were all silver and created their own beams of translucent light on the walls. She curiously traced one of them, piqued by the way the light bled off of it like a tie die stain. But there was an altogether different and frightening stain left behind. A red smear where her finger left the silverware. She looked, alarmed, at her hands. They were covered in blood, as was her white shirt, white pants, her hair, her skin. She staggered breathlessly out of the kitchen, gaping in horror at herself, her blood soaked body. She blundered backwards into the living room and backed into the arms of some loathsome beast engulfed in darkness.

She couldn't see him clearly, but somehow she could imagine his face, just from his stature standing there before her, from the way the light hit him. A man with intense eyes which glinted at her through the shadow enveloping his face, shortly trimmed dark brown hair and the lines of a sadistic grin, she imagined, that his lips curled into.  
They locked eyes, and he questioned her, without words, as to what she was doing here and why the hands he was holding were covered in blood. She pulled away, still confused, still desperate to remove the sticky, unclean bodily liquid that lay heavy upon her hands and clothes. Finally he asked aloud,

"Who are you?"

She said nothing. A pang of fear had run through her. She recognized the voice. Her eyes darted behind him to the portrait of Jesus. He looked behind him.

"What is it?"

Her lips parted, hesitant to speak, and when she finally did, it was in a faint whisper of vague recollection, the only things she could think of saying at this particular moment, in this particular situation.

"We are the flock of the Lord. The Lord is our Shepard, so sayeth He, The Eternal."

The man looked back at her and smiled. He began to advance on her slowly, she felt that somehow, he was exercising some kind of power over her because her legs wouldn't move to run, her arms refused to swing to hit, to claw or scratch. The man kept advancing and finally stopped, close enough to her that she could feel his hot breath upon her face. His eyes stared through her, captivating her glance, raping her mind, she felt. She blinked and tried not to look in his face.

"It's you again." He said softly. "Why do you keep coming here?"

She just stared, unsure of what to say. She looked at her hands. The blood was gone. Suddenly in an abrupt motion he took her face in his hands and kissed her. A soft passionate kiss that burned her lips and ran through her body like fire. The parted. She almost didn't want to part but he let go before she was ready.

"Is that why?"

He whispered.

"Is that why?"

She was silent. He grinned. There it was, she thought, that sly smug grin.

"I know you detest the person I am. But you find yourself unable to resist. That is what I am. And inside, it is what you are."

She spoke finally.

"No. I'm not like you at all."

"No?" He laughed. "Look around you. Where do you think this all came from?"

Her eyes darted around the room. The first thing she noticed was that the portrait of Jesus was gone. There was now an empty white canvas on the wall, a blank empty space, lifeless, meaningless, hanging there behind this man.

"You see now?" He said. "It's all you. We're in your mind. These are your thoughts and your secret wishes. You live within me and I am within you."

"You're a killer. And a liar." She said as coldly as she could muster.

"And what are you?"

"I'm nothing like you!"

The man waved his hands around the room.

"Then what is this?"

"Leave me alone. Leave me out of this, I want nothing to do with you!"

"You know perfectly well who I am." The man said as he stepped closer. He gazed into her eyes. Her heart skipped a beat. It was him.

_Why him?_

"You're not what you think you are. You may be a ... a hero, to your kind. But deep down, under that mask of loyalty, andthat hate ... is a lovesick little girl."

He straightened up.

"You're not who you think you are. Not at all."

"You're nothing."She replied. It didn't sound as effective as she had hoped.

"Am I?"

He grinned again. He winked devilishly and moved back into the darkness.

She strained to see him, but he was gone.

Slowly everything began to melt around her. The thin facade of papered walls around her, the feeling of loneliness and hopelessness, the still hot kiss that burned on her lips, that strangely, refused to go away. She stood there in a silence odd for her and then suddenly, like being plunged head down into a pool of murky water, she was thrust face first into choking, blinding blackness.

_"Sam? Sam? Sam!"_

Sam woke up suddenly. Daniel was waving a hand over her face.

"You okay Sam?"

"Come on, Sam, time to go."

Jack said, walking briskly up the gate ramp.

The StarGate was open, the rippling event horizon just feet from her, reflecting in her blank eyes. Jack and Teal'c went through. It was then Sam realized that she was in her uniform, her sweaty hand clamped onto her gun, about to take a trip, like any ordinary day.

Daniel looked at Sam in concern.

"You okay? You looked a little pale there."

"Y-yeah." Sam said hesitantly. She put her fingers to her lips, still feeling a tingle of that peculiar heat.

"I'm fine... I'mfine."


End file.
